It came from behind the sun.
It caught us off guard.
Our instruments went haywire.
Our cities went dark.
A signal, a wave, a vast hull, a mistake,
a nonsensical mist.
You sit in your car and await the vanguard
of whatever this is.
The softening firmament seeping in through the vents.

Rushing in waves down the shady lanes.
Pouring through gates at the guarded estates.
Drowning the stalls at the shopping malls.
Through the walls, through the walls.
Pouring down ramps at the corporate campuses.
Cresting the counters at the airport lounges.
Down from the stars.
Through the walls, through the walls.

If it turned you inside out,
you'd be open to love.
If it sucked you into space,
you'd be closer to god.
But you find what you're looking for
in whatever's at hand:
the din of these starlings or
the ankle-deep ash
that pours like a river
from the site of the crash.

Rushing in waves down the shady lanes.
Pouring through gates at the guarded estates.
Drowning the stalls at the shopping malls.
Through the walls, through the walls.
Pouring down ramps at the corporate campuses.
Cresting the counters at the airport lounges.
Down from the stars.
Through the walls, through the walls.

Consider the vast aridity of your interior life.
Consider the remedies: some unpleasant, some extreme.
Consider the way you hold yourself.

"Safe journey, space fans, wherever you are."